


Wish You Were Here

by DesertScribe



Category: The Adventures of Brisco County Jr.
Genre: Dixie in China, F/M, Post-Canon, Postcards
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-08
Updated: 2018-02-08
Packaged: 2019-03-15 08:47:01
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,550
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13609785
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DesertScribe/pseuds/DesertScribe
Summary: Dixie sends Brisco a postcard, with unexpected results.





	Wish You Were Here

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Ultra](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ultra/gifts).



When not kept busy by visits to the palace or other ambassadorial duties, Dixie liked to explore. Sometimes she did so accompanied by some of her fellow Americans. Sometimes she did so accompanied by one or more of the friends that she had made here in China. Today, she was on her own. It was late in the afternoon, and she was almost due to head back to the embassy for dinner, but the items in the display window of a small shop caught her eye, and when she wandered inside the beautifully painted fans and paper screens filling the place not disappoint. The old woman behind the counter sat up straighter when she saw Dixie admiring the merchandise, smiled and bowed in greeting, then turned and yelled something in rapid-fire Chinese across the room. Dixie was still working on learning the language, but she thought she caught the words meaning, "come translate."

A few seconds later, a much younger woman rushed out from behind one of the larger screens and hurried over to join them, probably having been called away from working on yet another painting if the ink smudges on her hands were anything to go by.

"Hello, and welcome to our humble business," the young woman said, looking like she was tired of getting called out to always say the same thing whenever a Western tourist came to the shop. "All of our items are handmade the artisans of my family. My father and brother construct all of the furniture from locally sourced wood, while the women do the painting. I personally painted each of the fans myself." Then she took a better look at Dixie and suddenly her eyes grew wide and her smile grew more sincere looking. "Wow," she blurted, "you look just like Dixie Cousins!"

The older woman scolded her business associate (who was probably her granddaughter or great niece if Dixie had to guess), but Dixie was used to being recognized in stranger places than a city where she had already been living for several months now, so she merely smiled and, with a nod of acknowledgement, said, "Well I should hope that I look like Dixie Cousins, seeing as how I am."

"My brother who went to America sends me stories and dime novels so I can practice my English. I have read all about your adventures," the young woman practically squealed.

The older woman, apparently recognizing Dixie's name and knowing a lost cause when she saw one, gave up on her scolding, mouthed a silent apology to Dixie and then removed herself to the far end of the counter, as if disavowing any acquaintance with the younger woman.

The young woman, either not noticing the old woman's actions or doing a very good job of pretending as much, continued, saying, "Is the famous Brisco County, Jr. here with you too?"

"No, sorry," Dixie said. "Last I heard, he was still back in America. I was actually looking for a souvenir to send to him, but none of this if really his style. My sister would probably like one of these fans, though."

"You know," the young woman said thoughtfully, "I was just finishing what might be the perfect thing for him when you arrived. Please, give me one minute!" She rushed away back behind the screen without waiting for a reply. Dixie craned her neck and saw the young woman sit down at a desk hidden behind the screen and begin to add a decorative border to a small picture.

The old woman sighed, shook her head, and with a mutter that sounded like the Chinese equivalent of, "Kids today...," rejoined Dixie, who was thankful to know enough Chinese that no translator was necessary for the two of them to complete their business, haggling included. The old woman was just finishing tying Dixie's purchases into neatly wrapped protective bundles when the young woman reemerged carrying several small cardboard rectangles with what looked to be beautifully painted local skylines and scenes of daily life on them, one of them including a horse that looked suspiciously similar to Comet.

"Send him these," the young woman told Dixie, giving her the cards with another cheerful smile even wider than her previous one, "but be careful, because the ink is still a little bit wet in spots."

Dixie turned them over in her hands. On the backsides of the pictures, there were pre-marked areas for an address, a short message, and a stamp.

"How much do I owe you for these?"

"Call them a gift to you and Mr. Brisco," the young woman said, sounding slightly nervous. "I am trying something new with the format and my art techniques, and the books always say that Mr. Brisco is looking for the coming thing, so hopefully he will like them. If you like them, ma'am, you can always come back and buy more."

Dixie gratefully accepted the gift. As she left the shop followed by cheery calls thanking her for contributing to the local economy, she already knew what she would write on the first one that she sent to Brisco, because she had already been think it for a long while now.

* * *

Dixie knew roughly how long it took a ship to cross the Pacific between China and California. She also knew how long it usually took Brisco to check his mail. Therefore, she was quite surprised at the speed with which Birsco's reply arrived. She was even more surprised at the form of the reply, namely Dixie's morning being interrupted while she had an informal breakfast and gossip session with some of the other ambassadors' wives (the real people to talk to if you wanted to know what was truly going on with politics both in this town and back in the States) by a sudden commotion in the form of the sounds of horseshoes on wooden floors, fighting, and Brisco kicking open the drawing room door with a shout of, "Don't worry, Dixie, I'm coming for ya!"

Dixie blinked up at Brisco from her seat at the table. Usually her dreams of Brisco involved fewer items of clothing and better lighting. More privacy too. Comet leaned over Brisco's shoulder and whinnied a hello. Judging by the sounds of fighting still coming from the hallway, Bowler was probably there too. No, this probably was not a daydream, but a part of Dixie wished that it could have been, just because of the circumstances.

"It's not that I don't appreciate you dropping by for a visit, Brisco, even an unannounced one," Dixie said, "but could you maybe have found a way to do it without causing an international incident?" She put down her fork and pushed aside her half eaten meal. "And maybe have waited until after the sun was more than just barely above the horizon?" she added.

"But the card you sent said that you were being held captive," Brisco protested.

Dixie raised an eyebrow at that interpretation of what she had written. "It said, 'Dear Brisco, Having a wonderful time, wish you were here. Love, Dixie,'" she said. "If that was supposed to be a code for being held captive, then I'm sorry but you never told me about it."

"No, Dix," Brisco insisted, "I'm talking about the part where you wrote, 'Dear Brisco, they won't let me leave the embassy, please come to my rescue with all haste, love, your darling Dixie,' hidden in Morse code in the decorative border around the picture. Very fancy, by the way, but also very worrying."

"That border was there when I— Oh...," Dixie trailed off as she remembered being told that the paint on the postcard was still wet in spots. More likely it had still been wet in dots and dashes.

"Oh?" Bowler said, having joined Brisco at the doorway.

"Yeah, 'oh,' " Dixie said.

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"It means," Dixie said with a small, slightly exasperated laugh, "that I need to go have some words with a scheming fangirl who wants to meet you and who has read enough dime novels to figure out how to get you here to do it. Until then," she added, patting the sofa cushion next to her, "stop hanging around in the doorway, Brisco, and get your butt over here and greet me properly."

"With pleasure, Dixie," Brisco said as Comet huffed and pushed Bowler back out of the room. The women who Dixie had been having breakfast with followed them out of the room, one of them making comments about how they should all go check the kitchens to see if any green apples were available so as to give the reunited lovers more privacy while Bowler grumbled but did not protest. As the voices faded away down the hall, Brisco closed the door as well as the broken latch would allow, then closed the distance between the two of them, and soon they were making up for all the long months that they had spent apart.

Yes, Dixie thought in the brief time before Brisco temporarily reduced her to not thinking about much of anything at all, she was definitely going to have words with that fangirl, and more than a few of those words were going to be 'thank you.'

**The End**


End file.
